


Black is the Color (of My True Love's Fur)

by BensLostTookaCat (VillainTheBlank)



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Bathing/Washing, Body Horror, Bugs & Insects, Devoted Reylo, F/M, Fever, Human/Monster Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Illness, Kylo is a werewolf, Light Petting, Monsterfucker, Moth - Freeform, No A/B/O Dynamics, Past FinnRey, Past Rey x other characters, References to Depression, Shapeshifting, Stargazing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 17:24:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23573416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VillainTheBlank/pseuds/BensLostTookaCat
Summary: Rey gets sick, and Kylo takes care of her. Oh, and Kylo's a werewolf.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey
Comments: 17
Kudos: 91





	Black is the Color (of My True Love's Fur)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [persimonne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/persimonne/gifts).

> I hatched this idea the other day when my dear Persimonne was feeling poorly. To make her feel better, I wanted to include sick hurt/comfort, Rey as a monsterfucker, and a moth, because duh.
> 
> Beta'd by my dear friend Flypaper_brain, but all mistakes are strictly my own!

* * *

If you were to ask Rey why she’d started dating (fucking, let’s be honest, fucking) a monster, most likely she would have made some comment about monster cock with a double salute. Her rather expansive collection of dark fiction and the art she’d made to accompany it would seem to put the truth to that statement. There might have been a time when she’d even have believed that was all there was to it.

If you got through that first layer of reasoning, she’d put on an ‘okay you got me’ expression and laugh, and tell you that she’d honestly given up on the human male. She was tired, she’d tell you, of being used and discarded, of being a stepping stone, the last woman a man would date before he settled down with the woman he would marry (or man, in one case, and it should be said that she and Finn had the best relationship out of all of her exes). However, even this was a bit of a red herring.

The real reason why Rey was with Kylo boiled down to something quite a bit closer to those dark fairytale collections in her bedroom, although neither of the other reasons was a total fabrication: by the time she’d met Kylo, who radiated  _ dark stranger _ and  _ forbidden thrill _ energy, every aspect of her life, including almost every other relationship she’d ever valued, had gone to pieces in the preceding six months. She had thrown herself to the wolves, so to speak. He might give her an amazing night, he might use her and leave, he might be a serial killer… and the truth of the matter was that at that point, she simply no longer gave a fuck which it was. Of course, it wasn’t until  _ after _ they made it to the bedroom that night that she’d found out about the whole not-quite-human thing. The night had been nothing short of earth-shattering, and Rey took her first steps into a world much closer to her fiction than she’d dreamed was possible. That world was also both sexier and more nurturing than any reality the “real world” had offered her, so she’d embraced it and never looked back.

“I don’t share,” he had told her simply, frankly, when they had met for a second date nearly a year ago.

“Fine by me,” she had replied, swiping a french fry off of his plate. His smirk and raised eyebrow at her blatant theft had been enough to send shivers down her spine and send thrills curling and pooling low in her belly.

“So just what are you doing?” he growled, his eyes sparking with mischief and possession.

“Not sharing,” she shrugged, licking the salt from her fingers and enjoying the bob of his Adam’s apple and the darkening of his eyes as he watched her lips and tongue. 

Rey has seen him at his furthest from human, his majestic black coat glossy and silvered in the moonlight, his eyes golden and piercing; he has allowed her to witness the terrible power of his fangs and claws, but even these have never deterred her for a moment. Sure, his ears might be both large and sometimes furry; yes, he might be absurdly tall and broad; all right, his canines and nails might grow a bit when he’s agitated; from time to time he might even howl at the moon, but these are not enough to make Rey second-guess her choice. Not when he comes in from long runs in the woods near their cabin smelling of sweat and pheromones and something entirely else, something fresh and wild; not when he seems to know exactly how she’s feeling pretty much all of the time; not when he curls around her at night, his body radiating absurd levels of heat, and making her feel protected, safer than she’s ever felt in her life; not when the only thing he has ever demanded from her is something she is overjoyed to give: her absolute loyalty. 

A magnificent soul lives within him, and it calls to something deep within her own. It's a difficult thing to parse, the feeling of possession-that-isn't-quite-possession. It speaks to Rey's more instinctual side, soothing her with feelings of belonging, while not spooking her with the specter of ownership. There's a reciprocity to it, an understanding that he is as much hers as she is his, and that security is a precious thing.

Even now, when she is in the throes of hell knows what, there is no question that he is staying, that he is with her, that he will provide for her and even nurse her, should the situation demand.

Last night, after dinner, he had stopped mid-sentence with a concerned look on his face--a face whose ears were suddenly pointy-er, furrier, and unmistakably pricked up. His nose had twitched, and then he had gently tugged her into his arms, huffing softly. He was concentrating on her scent, she realized. 

"Kylo?"

His eyes had that predatory sheen about them that suggested he was shifting closer to a bestial form, and his voice was deep, his words stilted as he spoke around lengthened canines.

"Your body is fighting something," he snarled, curling his huge form around hers as if to protect her from some invisible foe. 

"I… really?" She supposed she did feel a tad run-down, but nothing to give this level of alarm. "I'm still feeling okay, so I guess I'll run into town and get--"

A warning growl cut her off, and she turned in his arms to stroke his hair.

"The only place you're going is to bed."

"Kylo, love, I'll be happy to go to bed and let you go to town instead, but you can't go like this," she cautioned, gently brushing an ear.

His eyes widened, and then he relaxed around her. His body was so attuned to hers by now that he would have known instantly if she hadn't meant what she'd said. 

He kissed the top of her head, then lifted her in his arms.

* * *

"Rey? I got some medicine and there's a chicken for soup in the fridge." 

His hoarse whisper in the dark is music to her ears, even though her head is positively throbbing. A tiny whimper is all the reply she dares make. This feels like the worst hangover in the history of alcohol, and Rey has never been so grateful for blackout curtains in all her life. The last thing she remembers is being tucked in and kissed, his nose delicately scenting her forehead. 

He whimpers back, apparently abandoning all plans of cutting up chicken along with his clothing, and crawls into their bed beside her. His naked skin is comparatively cool for once against her feverish body, and she immediately huddles against him.

"It hurts," she whines, burrowing in.

"Where?"

_ "Everywhere." _

She sounds so pitiful, even to her own ears, when he bumps his nose against her shoulder--his non-verbal way of asking her if she wants the Wolf to cuddle instead of the Man. She laces her fingers in his, her hands weak and trembling--she prefers the Man and his gentle hands now. He kisses her shoulder gently, one hand moving to stroke her back with feather-light fingertips. She lets him pet her, his soft touch making her groggy, soothing her into a fitful sleep.

When she wakes again, it is to the sound of a chill spring wind buffeting the cabin, and the space beside her is empty. 

"Kylo?" Rey rasps, but there is no reply. A swirl of loneliness and despair spins up in her heart, making her sickness just that much worse, only to hear the deep baritone howl rise from her back garden. She exhales; this is a routine territorial howl, his twice-daily warning to the world that this is his corner of it, and that he is here. After a moment, she hears the back door open and close, followed by a shaking of fur and the clicking of claws on the bare wood floors. 

A familiar series of crunches and pops heralds a shift to human form, and she hears him puttering in the kitchen; the tap of a wooden spoon on a metal pot, the  _ whoosh! _ of water through the faucet, a pause, another  _ whoosh! _

A sliver of light enters the bedroom with a creak of the door, and he makes his way over to her side of the bed, his hands checking her temperature. She gives a weak yelp at his chilly fingers, but shuffles over as he crawls in beside her. Once he's settled, she grabs his ribs and gives a weak squeeze--her silent way of requesting the Wolf.

"Please?" Her voice is puny and scratchy.

He sniffs at her head and her mouth, then lays his ear against her chest. Evidently whatever he senses doesn't please him, because he hums with dissatisfaction. He gets up again, despite her clutching protests, and returns with a steaming mug. 

"You need to drink at least a little of this, and take these," he orders, producing two pills.

Rey grumbles but takes the mug, sipping gingerly. It's hot, and maybe even a little rich, but it's soothing. She swallows it down and comes back for another sip, holding her hand out for the medicine.

"What is it? Chicken soup?" The hot liquid has strengthened her voice a little.

"Bone broth," he nods. "There's soup once you're hungry."

She must feel worse than she thought, because food sounds  _ awful. _

Once she finishes her mug, he lays down beside her again and she wraps her arms around his ribs, kissing his chest before closing her eyes. 

Rey is not a normal person. She's known this for a long, long time now. However, there is a small piece of her that thinks she really ought not to be comfortable with, let alone turned on by, the feeling of her lover shifting forms in her arms. The first time, she'd been traumatized; the sounds of his bones breaking, the sight of lumps of tissue rearranging themselves beneath shifting skin, had seemed so obviously and horribly painful that she'd been in tears, fighting not to retch. He had been dejected by her reaction at first, believing it to be terror at the monster he was underneath his human skin. Their mutual explanation had deepened their already-unusual bond; he had assured her that it was no more painful than a long stretch and cracking of joints after sitting in one position for too long, and wonder had overcome her horror. The next time he shifted in front of her, she had asked if she could touch him while he did.

The time after that… well. He'd learned that she found him attractive in all of his forms, and she'd spent a couple of days in bed, recovering her ability to walk. (They had learned that Rey required extensive--and mutually pleasurable--preparation to take him in his true hybrid form, but it could in fact be done. Something about nearly doubling in size and quadrupling in weight, to say nothing of being a bipedal nightmare meant to sow panic and destruction, had made Kylo deeply concerned that he would outright cause some kind of horrible rupture, and the level of self-control that it took not to hurt Rey while in a form that was not suited to any kind of control made it a rare event, indeed, but she confessed it had utterly ruined her for anyone else, and Kylo isn't skilled enough a liar to pretend that wasn't important to him.)

Now, she loves to feel him change against her. There is something primal and exciting about feeling his skin on hers as he takes a new shape, about this huge, lethal monster rearranging his entire being because she wishes it so. As she lays sick, feeling weak and helpless, the pop and shift of his joints and muscles, the migration of hair from his head, lower abdomen, and groin to his entire body, and the exchange of nose and jaw for snout and maw makes Rey sigh, comforted. She strokes his fur softly. 

His heart is filled with longing as she unconsciously nuzzles against him, and he is overcome with a tender pride that she finds comfort in him. He licks her forehead, then lays his head gingerly above hers, careful not to suffocate her in his chest. She's already halfway asleep, and he whuffs gently, relaxed if not content; she is fevered still, but she smells less like  _ sickness _ and more like  _ Rey. _ He dozes beside her, satisfied that he's done what he can--for now, anyway. 

Rey wakes up to the feeling of Kylo's long tongue lapping against the joint of her neck and shoulder. Her mouth is sour, her tongue and teeth feeling like they're each wearing little sweaters, and she can still feel the places Kylo hasn't gotten to, where she's crusted in salt from sweating.  _ Gross. _ Sweating is a good sign, though, isn't it? Her thoughts are hazy, like swimming through oatmeal, so she can't be too sure of that last point. Kylo must think it's a positive development, though, given that he's bathing her.

As if pushed into action by the thought, she feels Kylo move so that he's standing on all fours over her side, his tongue swiping first under her breasts, then across her clavicle. Rey doesn't  _ remember _ taking off her clothes, but she does know that it's not something Kylo would do on his own unless it was an emergency. She must have taken them off in the heat of her fever. She rolls onto her back and gives Kylo a gentle, sleepy smile just as his tongue laves the valley of her breasts, pink meeting dusky rose and drawing a languid sigh from Rey.

She tries to speak, but her voice is wrecked.

"You're really sweet, Kylo," she whispers, rubbing between and behind his ears, "but I feel absolutely  _ disgusting,  _ and I'm sure I don't taste much better. Would you draw me a bath, my love?"

Wolves may not be good at pouting, but they are excellent sulkers. He slinks away toward the bathroom, tail tucked and snout downcast, and waits until he's out of sight to shift again, depriving her of the vision of his glorious backside. Water flows through the pipes, and a lovely floral smell trails in Kylo's wake as he walks in to retrieve her. 

Rey, on the other hand, is excellent at pouting, her bottom lip plump and difficult to ignore. Kylo can't help smiling when he sees her lying there, naked and petulant, and he kneels down to pick her up, cradling her in his arms all the way to the bathtub. He gently lowers her in, the soft scents of lavender and eucalyptus melting the first layer of stress and grime away. 

Kylo reaches for the shampoo.

"May I?"

Rey tilts her head back, baring her throat in a show of expectant submission, and a low growl rises unbidden from him at the sight. He cups water over her hair, working the shampoo through every strand and rubbing her scalp until she moans in pleasure, turning to putty in his massive hands. After rinsing her hair, he soaps the washcloth well, and cleans every inch of her skin from her ears to her toes, his touch gentle but firm. If he spends a little extra effort making sure that her breasts are rosy and shining, or uses his fingers to massage every inch of her to pliant relaxation, who is she to complain?

The water is murky, her skin is glowing, and she rises from the bathtub like Aphrodite, her wet curls cascading over her pert breasts. She wraps up her hair in a towel and her body in a bathrobe, brushing her teeth while he lays out comfortable, warm pajamas and her favorite black sweater, which used to be his favorite black sweater. Still is, really, just for different reasons. 

"I'm coming with you on your rounds," she announces as she's getting dressed. He frowns, but he understands the need to get outside and get some fresh air. He pulls a knit cap over her head instead, and she nods, knowing a compromise when it's offered. He also ladles her a mug of simmering soup before opting for fur as cover from the evening chill, then picking up a throw blanket in his jaws. Woman and Wolf walk into the gathering twilight on a clear spring night. 

She settles on the outdoor sofa, tucking the throw around her and sipping her soup while Kylo makes his patrol; the sound of his howl still sends a thrill up her spine. He joins her a few moments later, and she leans against his shoulder as she gazes up at the stars.

"There's Leo," she smiles, pointing up, then leans over and whispers conspiratorially, "I prefer wolves to lions, myself."

Kylo snorts good-humoredly, and Rey continues.

"'There's Arcturus, looking very bright,' she quotes, pointing at Boötes, "and down there is Spica… oh! And there's a saturniid!"

Kylo starts, the name unfamiliar and the feel of feather-light points of contact on his muzzle unexpected. His snout twitches and his head rears back as he comes eye-to-eye with what might be the granddaddy of all moths, perched right on his nose.

"Oh, he's beautiful!" Rey cries, her eyes wide and her lips making a pretty little 'o.' She gingerly reaches out a finger toward it--just in time for Kylo to sneeze. The moth flutters up, out of reach of Kylo's teeth, settling instead between the Wolf's ears. Rey claps her hands, squeaking with joy, while Kylo, though unwilling to upset Rey, looks distinctly unamused, his ears out to the sides in what can only be described as grumpy resignation.

"Oh, don't be such a puppy!" Rey scolds playfully, giving him a kiss on the nose. She holds out a finger, and to her delight, the moth hesitantly pads forward until it is perched on her hand, fuzzy antennae waving in what might be enquiry or greeting before it ultimately takes to the sky once more in search of the light. 

Interlude over, Rey can't disguise her shiver, and she yawns. Kylo gives her a gentle nudge with his snout, and she reluctantly stands.

"All right, let's go in," she sighs. "Is there any more soup?"


End file.
